


the taste was sweeter

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: On his 18th birthday, Niall travels into the future and ends up meeting his 24 year old self.





	the taste was sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [quote](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com/post/165328672456/onthelooze-niall-has-got-a-few-words-of-advice) where Niall decides to give 'Little Niall' some advice. For some visual aids see [here](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com/post/165404672626/stylishirish-im-just-having-a-lot-of-feelings).
> 
>  
> 
> Title from High Hopes - Pink Floyd.

Niall rolls over on the bed, presses his hips down into the mattress. He does it without thinking, still in the dregs of sleep. Fuck, he’d been having a rather lovely dream. Something swimmy and warm. He’d felt as if he was sinking into something soft -- a plush duvet or a bed of marshmallow. It was like he had been floating, all his limbs supported, his head stretched back and a hot, wet suck around the head of his dick. 

Niall sighs, presses his hips down again. The pillows are soft, the bedding smells clean and dry and comforting. Niall lets himself moan softly with how content he is right in that moment.

Then, something shifts to his left. 

Niall freezes. He had went to bed alone last night -- at least, he’s pretty sure he did. They had been out but Niall had been keeping a low profile until his birthday tomorrow. The team don’t want his name in the papers -- not yet, not for the wrong reasons.

He’s been drinking since he was fifteen but The Sun would have a field day with photographs of it so close to turning eighteen.

So, he’d only had a few pints, the rest of the boys going out to the club after. Niall had watched the end of the football, watched Harry pout on the other end of the sofa until he fucked off back to his own flat, watched some shite porn and went to bed tired and sleepy and sated. 

Niall turns his head, blinks his eyes open slowly. 

The body beside him is sprawled out on his back, a hand flung out and head turned away to face the opposite wall. They aren’t wearing a shirt, the duvet sliding down over a hairy chest that’s rising slowly with every breath. Niall catalogues the definition around a set of ribs, the tight pucker of an erect nipple, the movement of a throat on every breath. 

Niall’s stomach flips over and he pulls his knees up in front of him.

It’s a boy. 

A _man._

Niall swallows and tries to remain calm. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it -- oh, has he fucking thought about it -- it’s just he’s never gathered the balls to actually pull a guy before.

And now he can’t even remember doing it. 

Niall takes a breath, shifts again. He’s still hard, flagging a little with the panic of the situation but not by much. The guy must be a heavy sleeper because he hasn’t stirred since Niall first moved. 

In fact, he’s nearly too still. 

Niall breathes out through his mouth, feels his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and presses one finger into the man’s shoulder. 

His skin is warm and soft -- not dead, at least. Niall nudges him again. 

The body stiffens and then he’s twisting out and away from him, the duvet trailing after so Niall has to shove a hand down to cover his dick in modesty. 

The man all but slithers off the bed, twisting in the bedclothes until he thumps onto the ground. 

“Are you alright?” Niall asks and the head pops up, brown hair a mess. 

“What the fuck is going on?” the man yelps. “I’m fucking calling my security.”

Niall balks. He wishes he still had the blankets to hide behind. He sits up carefully, trying to at least look like he’s not just lying sprawled on his back, his dick rising up to the ceiling. He looks over the edge of the bed again and a pair of familiar eyes stare back at him. 

“What the --” 

The man collapses back down onto the floor, his mouth opening and shutting in shock. It nearly looks funny, except it really isn’t. 

It’s fucking terrifying. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Niall asks even though he _knows_ who it is. It’s fucking _him_.

It’s him in five or so years. It’s him with dark, unbleached hair. Enough stubble to strike a match off, bags under his eyes, broad shouldered and nearly as naked. 

The other Niall just stares at him, his eyes roving over Niall’s face, dropping down his chest and landing in his lap before he jerks his gaze away. Niall feels his face heat, a deep flush settling on his cheeks at being caught. He’s still half-hard. 

“Jesus Christ,” Other Niall says, leaning back onto the floor to untangle himself from the sheets. They’re wrapped tight and it takes a few moments for him to untwist himself. Niall watches, his mouth drying again, as his older self writhes about on the floor, his hips bucking up and his legs kicking himself free. 

He’s wearing a tiny pair of black Calvin Klein boxer shorts that cut into the muscle of his thighs and leave little to the imagination. He looks fucking unreal. 

“What age are you anyway?” The other him asks, climbing to his feet. He flings the duvet at Niall, hitting him in the chest with it and Niall gratefully tugs it over his lap. 

“Turnin’ eighteen,” Niall answers, the words feeling clunky in his mouth. That’s fucking _him_ standing at the end of the bed. He’s there and here at the same time. There’s two of them. Niall twists his fingers in the sheets. It feels like he could keel over and he’s not even standing up.

Other Niall swears under his breath, shaking his head. “Christ,” he mutters, bending down to pull on a t-shirt. Niall’s glad, the sight of his skinny, hairy chest was making him feel funny. Niall watches as he collapses into a chair by the window and starts staring down at his phone. 

“What age are you?” Niall asks, feeling stupid. He’s asking himself what age he is. As if he’s somehow travelled through time to meet himself. He’s fucking talking to himself. He’s gone mad, he’s sure of it. 

Other Niall glances up from his phone. He looks a bit pale, his skin pinking up in patches where the rest of his face is grey. There’s a bit of a shadow under his eye. Niall can tell he’s hungover. 

“Twenty four.” Niall says bluntly. He looks away, like he can’t quite meet Niall’s gaze. “Today.”

Niall’s stomach lurches as he counts it up. 2017. Fuck. Six years. Niall wonders how much has changed between then and now. Or now and then. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head fucking hurts. 

“Happy birthday,” Niall says, belatedly. 

The other him at the table snorts, shakes his head and goes back to his phone. 

Once his morning wood goes down, Niall fashions himself a sort of modesty blanket out of the sheet and slides off the bed. He can see from the set of Other Niall’s shoulders that he’s watching out of the corner of his eye. It makes the back of his neck prickle but he’s too curious to keep sitting awkwardly in the middle of the big bed. 

The hotel room is huge -- and it is a hotel room, Niall can tell even though it looks straight out of an interior decorating magazine. 

He wanders over to the thick black out curtains and peers through them, expecting to see grey, dreary London. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Niall barks, his eyes widening as he takes in the skyline. The city stretches on seemingly forever, highrise buildings, skyscrapers, grey and chrome and white and silver. The sun is coming up in a haze, bright sunlight shining on window after window. 

Right in the middle is the Eiffel Tower but it’s different, smaller and red and strangely out of sorts in the middle of the ultra modern skyline. Off in the distance is a snow capped mountain, jutting out into the blue sky. 

“Tokyo,” supplies his voice from behind him and then the Other Niall is standing up to peer out over his shoulder. He’s an inch or so taller, nothing massively different. Niall takes note of the subtler changes in him. How his shoulders are a bit broader too and how he holds himself up where Niall is slouching so he feels so much more taller beside him, taking up more space. 

Niall turns his head to look at him, sees the look of wonder on the Other Niall’s face too. It settles him slightly that even when he’s older, something like this can still impress him. Other Niall gives him a tight smile when he catches him looking and passes him a leather bound booklet. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Niall wants to stare at the skyline all morning. He pulls the curtains back, letting more light into the dim hotel room. His head swims as he looks out again. They must be on the 50th floor.

He can’t believe they’re in fucking Japan. They must be doing alright for themselves. 

“Cornflakes?” Niall goes for, wondering why Niall’s given him his diary. 

Other Niall snorts, going back to his phone. It’s on silent but Niall can see the screen lighting up from across the room. “You can have whatever you want,” he says, nodding at the diary. 

Niall glances down and sees that it isn’t a diary at all but a menu. The leather is soft, Niall can’t imagine why anyone would want to waste it on a bloody room service menu. In the hotels they’ve been staying at recently don’t even serve breakfast the majority of the time and they have to scoff a bowl of cereal at the venue or have a quick sausage roll from whatever service station is handy.

“Anything?” he asks, eyeing the price. It’s all in Yen but he’s sure it all costs a bomb anyway. 

Other Niall snorts again, a little disbelieving. “ _Anything._ ”

He orders French Toast and bacon and a basket of croissants with jam and a selection of cheeses. Other Niall seems unfazed when he says this so he adds on two mimosas, the most expensive plate of fruit he can find and can Niall maybe ask if they’d do a portion of chips because _why the fuck not._

“For your birthday,” he says when he suggests they skip the mimosas and just order a bottle of Champagne outright. 

Other Niall just rolls his eyes and dutifully relays Niall’s order down the phone. When he’s done, his mouth is turned up at the side though and Niall can tell he’s softening. He trips off to the shower after he’s done on the phone and Niall’s left to his own devices. 

The hotel room is _huge_. It’s more like a suite. Niall’s suitcase is open by the dressing room -- the hotel room has it’s own fucking dressing room -- and there’s a few bits and pieces Niall’s got lying about from the past few days here. There’s a huge television spread out across the wall in front of enough sofa space to fit the whole band. Through an archway is another bathroom, Niall can see the fancy bathtub from here. 

They must be doing well. At home, they have a rota for who’s sharing with who. Niall always draws the short straw -- the rest of the boys pulling the girlfriend card.

Niall slides on a pair of boxers from the lid of the suitcase. Everything is muted colours -- denims, navies, soft white t-shirts. Niall can’t see a pair of chinos anywhere -- and he slides back onto the bed. 

“This is a fucking swish hotel,” Niall says once Niall appears out of the bathroom. He’s damp, his shoulders pinked up but he looks a lot better. Older Niall snorts, one hand at the knot of the towel wrapped around his waist. He bends over the suitcase and Niall fights to not look at his arse. 

He shouldn’t be getting turned on by _himself_. 

He’s saved from having a crisis over it by the door knocking. Niall tugs on a pair of the skinniest jeans Niall’s ever seen and goes to answer to the door. His arse looks great, his thighs thick in the dark denim. 

“You feeding the five thousand, there, Niall?” Comes a voice from the hallway. “Feeling a bit delicate after last night?”

“Fuck off,” Other Niall fobs him off, pulling the trolley into the room without really looking. The glasses and mugs rattle against each other. There’s an ice bucket and the neck of a bottle of Moet sweating in the centre. Niall stands up against the doorway, his hand reached out to block the person from coming in. From the bed, Niall can’t see who it is. 

“I just need to sort a few things out at the venue and then we’re free for the afternoon. We can leave the soundcheck until tomorrow. I was thinking that maybe tonight we cou--”

Other Niall cuts him off --“No problem, I’ll see you after this.” He looks long and lean stretched like that, his back pale and smooth. Niall looks away, swallowing down the well of saliva under his tongue.

“Christ,” Other Niall says, sinking down into the chair and surveying the amount of stuff Niall’s ordered. He lifts a cloche, setting it down again on Niall’s French Toast. He pours himself a coffee and pushes the side of is fork through a poached egg. 

Niall ignores him. He’s being shite craic. How could you get bored of room service. 

“So,” Niall prods. He reaches for his plate, smiling at the sight of his breakfast. He picks up the other plate and brings them both back to the bed -- something Other Niall rolls his lip at -- and digs in. “On tour then? Is it our first time in Japan?”

Other Niall smiles down at his coffee cup and finally looks a bit cheeky. “Something like that.”

Niall rolls his eyes, shovels a forkful of French toast and maple syrup into his mouth. His fingers are covered in it and it drips a little onto the duvet. He takes a bite of bacon next. 

“Look,” Other Niall says, draining his mug and setting all his dishes back onto the trolley. “I don’t think you should leave the hotel room --” he throws Niall an apologetic look --”people will be really freaked out.”

Niall looks up at him, says honestly. “I’m really freaked out.”

Other Niall breaks into a smile. “You and me, both. Or me and me, both?”

Niall snorts, looks back down at his breakfast. 

“You’ll be alright on your own. I’ve Netflix.” Niall passes him the thinnest iPad Niall’s ever seen. “I’m sure you’ll find something to amuse yourself with.”

Niall smiles cheekily up at himself. “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

Other Niall barks out a laugh and reaches forward, his hand sinking into Niall’s hair. He gives it a bit of a ruffle and Niall shivers. It’s the first time he’s touched him properly this morning. 

Other Niall pulls away, his expression fond. “Happy birthday,” he says to him. His fingers linger in his hair and then he gives Niall a pat on the head that feels a touch too condescending. “Don’t get into trouble.”

The Other Niall hesitates for a moment and then pulls out his wallet. It’s sort of satisfying to see how thick it is, the leather luxurious and smooth. He passes Niall a credit card. “For emergencies.”

“This is a bit Pretty Woman,” Niall mutters, turning the card over in his hands. It feels a bit scary, he hasn’t even got one yet back where he’s from. 

Other Niall snorts and heads back towards the door. 

Niall frowns. “Wait. What if I actually am in trouble. How will I contact you?”

Other Niall frowns and it’s like looking in a mirror, both of them just staring at each other for a moment. 

“Just don’t get into trouble,” Other Niall says decisively. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Have fun,” Other Niall sing songs and then he’s disappearing out the hotel room door, his head buried in his phone again. 

*

Niall runs a bath because it’s pressed up against the window and Niall can see right across the Tokyo skyline with bubbles up his chest. The TV mounted on the wall has some cartoons on and it’s sort of jarring but in a mindless way. 

Everything smells of lavender and something else that’s fruity and he feels a bit housewife-y as he smears a facemask onto the bridge of his nose and eats a chocolate dipped strawberry off the fruit plate from breakfast. 

He drinks the Champagne from the bottle, wincing after every mouthful -- he’ll never get used to the taste -- and lets himself sink further and further into the water until some of the bubbles floating on the surface threaten to spill over onto the shiny tiled floor. 

It’s easy to drag his fingertips up the inside of his thigh. The water makes everything feel slippery and smooth, the hair on the tops of his legs soft against his pruning fingertips. He tips his head back, everything chrome and gold and shining blurring together with how swimmy his head feels from the alcohol. He lets his fingertips creep up under his balls, doesn’t think about it too much when he presses up against the sensitive skin there.

He doesn’t do this very much -- take his time, that is -- he doesn’t have the time or the privacy lately for a really good, long wank. It’s normally a bit of a rough tug in the shower or when he thinks everyone is asleep. He knows the other lads have heard him, knows what they all sound like too. 

When they had started the X Factor tour, Niall had trouble not wanting to just rut up against anything solid as soon as he came off stage. The adrenaline from bouncing around in front of that many people, the screaming ringing in his ears. All of them had been a bit shy about it at first but the longer the tour went on, the more used to it they became, all of them getting a little bit too touchy feely when they needed a good grope to take the edge off. 

It had taken a few weeks to catch on that he liked it like that though. That he wasn’t interested the same way the rest of the boys were about weekends where girlfriends could come meet them or picking a girl from the crowd hanging around back doors at venues. 

He would much rather be slinging his arm around a set of bony shoulders and shoving his hips into some boy’s arse. 

Niall’s fingertip drags over his rim and he flails a little bit, water sloshing up over the edge. The strawberries will be covered in suds but Niall can’t think of them right now, the tip of his finger slipping against the ring of muscle. 

He’d rather shove his hips into Harry’s arse specifically and sort of does so with a regularity that only Niall notices and thinks about at night. They haven’t spoken about it -- Niall’s too mortified to really contemplate that type of conversation yet -- but he thinks that Harry’s catching on. 

His dick is hard and bobbing -- an errant thought is enough to make him chub up these days and Niall grasps it with his right hand clumsily. It feels weird because of the bubbles and the water and the fact that he’s practically sitting on his usual hand. 

Harry had whispered about this once, his voice rough with a cold or too much vodka the night before as they gathered round a table for breakfast. He had the smirk that told Niall he’d pulled last night, his hair dirty and a wreck from where he hadn’t even showered yet in the morning. 

“She slipped me a finger,” he had said in a hushed voice over limp toast with too much butter. He had wriggled his pointer in front of them all, twisting his whole hand as if he was screwing in a lightbulb. He sounded awed by it, impressed. 

Liam had pulled a scandalised face, nearly dropping his butter knife and Zayn had snorted so hard, orange juice dribbled out of his nose.

Niall’s mouth had gone dry and his face completely red and before he’d even thought about it, he’d asked if he _liked_ it. 

“Of course, he did,” Louis had answered for him, something vaguely disgusted, vaguely curious in his tone. “He’s a fucking dirty bugger.”

Harry had preened like it was a compliment. 

Niall hasn’t had the courage to ask about it again but he knows that Harry’s been getting up to all sorts behind closed doors now. Niall swallows down at the swell of jealousy at the thought. Ignores how he isn’t sure who, Harry or his partner for the night, he’s more jealous of.

His fingertip pops into his arsehole and he freezes, his mind going blank, his elbow bent at an odd angle. He rocks a bit, his feet slipping on the other end of the bath. He wriggles a finger, wonders how he could manage to twist his entire hand the way Harry had bent like this. 

The water is cooling down, the air from the air conditioned room making the skin above the level of the water prickle with goosebumps. He shivers, his hand shifting inside his arse. 

He doesn’t really know what he’s feeling -- the stretch from his hole or because it’s _his_ finger that’s doing it. It feels a touch too slippery, his knuckles pressed to the rippled porcelain below his arse. 

It’s the dirtiness of it that makes him come. That and the tight grip he has around the shiny head of his dick. He feels a bit hollow when he pulls his left hand back up. He looks at it above the water, soap suds dripping down over his wrist. It looks normal, the pads of his fingers a little wrinkly from how long he’s been in the bath. His other hand is covered in his come but looks just the same. He stares at them for a moment, a little thrown. 

He drains the tub before he passes out from all the champagne he’s drunk. 

The duvet is extra soft when he climbs into the big bed naked again. He pulls the covers up over his damp body, shivering at how nice it feels against his bum as he wriggles into the middle of the bed. 

The pillows smell of Niall -- the other one, that is. Expensive cologne and something more adult than Niall’s sheets at home. It’s nice to push his hot cheeks into it, seeking out the coolness of them. He closes his eyes, pretends he hasn’t just tried to finger himself. 

It would be better if someone else did it to him, he thinks. His hand was too awkward, his legs in the way, his wrist not bendy enough. He could wriggle in til the first knuckle but not much further. He’s… perused online. He knows there’s something up in there that’s supposed to feel _good_. 

He thinks it would feel better if it was someone else doing it. If he didn’t have to worry about what way his hands bent or how hard he was touching his own dick. Someone could just do it all for him, maybe a hot mouth around his cock at the same time. 

Niall rolls his hips into the mattress with a moan. He’s hard again, heat building behind his pelvis. 

He’s been too scared to ask someone else to do it to him. He needs someone he trusts, someone who’d take care of it for him. 

A random girl, a one time fuck, isn’t the type of person you start asking to play with -- Niall wriggles his hand down under his hip and squeezes at his balls. He can’t just lie about all day tugging himself off but he pulls on his dick, using his own body weight to push the head of it against the soft sheets. He breathes heavily into the pillow, his tongue touching the material. He wonders what a dick would feel like inside his mouth, heat building in his gut at the thought of it. 

Niall bites his teeth together, coming with another roll of his hips. He clenches down, all the muscles in his arse tightening and Niall tries not to imagine what it feel like with something to squeeze around. 

Other Niall is going to kill him for spunking all over his sheets, but as he rolls onto his back, air con breezing over his sweaty chest, he can’t find the space to care. 

*

Niall orders sushi to the room for dinner (and two portions of fries in case he doesn’t like it). He finds football -- something he can understand in any language -- and drinks a few beers in his pants on the soft sofa. The sun goes down, the skyline lighting up in twinkling reds and whites off into the horizon. 

It’s not until he feels tired again -- a feat because of the amount of napping he’s done today -- that he starts to worry where Niall’s got to. 

He curses himself for not making his older self leave a number before he left. He paces for a few moments, the television cycling through some bright adverts before he lifts the iPad. He fiddles with it for a moment before it opens just on his thumb print. The screen is full of all sorts of different apps and it takes Niall a moment to look at them all. 

There’s no address book but there’s a little green app with a phone and a camera symbol so he clicks on it. He thinks for a moment that he has to lift it to his ear, the iPad massive against his cheek but --“Fuck!” he mutters when the app opens on a camera of himself. He looks a little washed out in the screen, his bony shoulders just in shot. Niall swears again, scrolling through the _hundreds_ of numbers. Most of them are unrecognisable, first and second names and nicknames or little smilie faces blurring together. 

He stops on a simple **H**. The same H on his phone back home. He thinks about just hitting call but he doesn’t want his face on screen so he stretches across the bed for the landline sitting beside the bed. 

“Hello,” Harry answers warily.

“It’s me,” Niall says quickly. He bites his lip on the thought that Other Niall is actually with Harry and he’s just fucked everything up. He moves on quickly, doesn’t give Harry the time to think about it. “When are you getting back?”

“Niall…” Harry says, slowly. Nearly uneasily. Niall presses the phone tighter to his ear. “I’m in California.”

Niall frowns. He looks over and catches another glimpse of the Tokyo skyline lit up in the darkness through the window. “What the fuck are you doing in California?”

“Are --” Harry breathes down the phone for a moment. He sounds groggy, like he’s just woken up. “Are you alright?”

“No --” Niall says. “I mean. Yes. I mean --”

“Do you need me to call someone? Basil or -- who’s on your team these days?”

Niall frowns. He doesn’t have a team. He doesn’t know who the fuck Basil is. Harry says it with such a familiarity that it throws him for just a second. 

“How are you in California?”

“I --” Harry sighs. Niall can nearly imagine him rubbing at his face. He sounds on the edge of sleep, his voice low and so much older than Niall is used to. “Have you taken something?”

“Have _you_?” Niall snaps. “I’m soundchecking in Tokyo and you’re in California.”

“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore,” Harry’s change of tone makes Niall nearly drop the phone. His voice sounds so deep. “If you need a doctor or something --”

“I don’t fucking need a doctor,” Niall interrupts him. “Sorry. I must just have got the wrong end of --”

“Just speak to someone --”

Niall hangs up the phone, throwing more weight into slamming the receiver down than really necessary. He glares at the football as it comes back after half-time, the commentary blurring in his ears and heads to the mini-bar again. 

*

Niall rolls in just after two. Niall’s still awake, his eyes like squares as he watches some mental game show in Japanese on the 68 inch television. It’s the biggest TV he’s ever seen in real life before.

There’s a square of golden light from the hallway outside and then Niall’s tripping through the door, wriggling out of his jacket. 

“Oh,” he says when he spots that Niall’s in the middle of his bed. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Niall gives him an unimpressed stare. “Where else would I pop off to? Haven’t been allowed to leave the hotel room, have I?”

He sounds a little petulant -- whiney -- but Niall doesn’t care. He’s tired and he can’t stop thinking about Harry on the other end of the phone. Not his Harry who makes his stomach feel funny and laughs at everything Niall says. An Other Harry to match this Other Niall. 

“Think of all the trouble you would’ve got yourself into if you left,” Other Niall says, his words not so much slurring but the tone of his voice making them sound all soft and swoopy. “I’m sure you were very well behaved indoors.”

Other Niall smirks, his mouth turning up at the side. When he starts stripping at the end of the bed, Niall doesn’t look away. He watches as Other Niall carefully hangs his shirt over the back of an armchair leaving his boots and jeans in a heap on the floor. He flops onto the bed in just his boxers and wriggles backwards until his head is on a pillow. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling again. He smells of beer and perfume and hairspray. He smells of the night air, cold and crisp. He smells older. More mature. 

“Did you have a good night?” Niall asks, failing to keep the jealousy out of his tone. 

Other Niall hums in response, kicking at the duvet until he’s under it. Niall doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the bed and Other Niall brushes up against him as he gets comfy. 

“You just need to sleep. That’s what always happens in the movies, doesn’t it?” Other Niall says, his words slurring softly. His eyes flutter, already on the edge of sleep. He rolls over, his hand landing on Niall’s cheek. It’s warm and Niall fights the urge to press up against it. 

Niall doesn’t know what movies have been released between his time and this time so he just hums in response. It vibrates between them because they’re pressed so close and he watches in the dim light as Other Niall smiles in response, humming softly back. 

“Tell me something from now,” Niall whispers, thinking of Harry so far away in California. They’ve only just been to California to shoot their video. Harry had never been before. “Tell me something I should know.”

With a sinking stomach, Niall assumes that he’s fallen asleep until Other Niall sighs quietly, shifting slightly so he’s closer. 

“Just try your best,” he tells him, his tone becoming serious. “You can’t regret it if you tried your best at it.”

Niall blinks at him, watches as he licks across his lip. “You sound like Bobby.”

Other Niall smiles, his teeth catching the little light coming through the window. They’re straight. Niall runs his tongue over his own crooked teeth, feels a pang of want. 

“Rule number 1. Always listen to Bobby,” Other Niall tells him, but he’s laughing again. His hand is still on Niall’s cheek, his thumb rubbing down close to the corner of Niall’s mouth. “Don’t stress so much,” he says and then takes a deep breath. “Your first gig will be shite but it will get so much better, believe me. Wear shoes with enough grip when you play golf, lose the baggy trousers as soon as you realise how crap they are, just ignore bad press.”

Niall swallows. He sort of never wants to leave, he just wants to automatically be this Niall in front of him. To already have went through this to get here, now. It’s unnerving how Other Niall mixes all his bullshit, inconsequential advice in with the serious stuff. 

Other Niall opens his eyes, pins him with his stare. “Don’t take it to heart when you notice how the others get more parts, you’ll get your chance later. Look after your knee --” Other Niall snuffles a laugh into the pillow. “Ah, you’ll probably still fuck it up but just don’t be worried when you have to go to hospital --”

“Hospital?!” Niall interrupts. 

Other Niall smooths his hand over Niall’s cheek again. “Ssh, it all works out fine. Well. Maybe ease off the jumping afterwards so you don’t have to go back. Try not and fuck up the other one while you’re at it. Your mum will want to move in with you in London to help you out. You sort of have no choice in the matter but I’m warning you now she’ll make your life a living hell and won’t leave for three months.”

Niall snorts. “Anything else I should know?” Niall asks, eagerly. He wants to know _everything_.

Other Niall laughs. “I don’t want to change anything for you. It’s all so much fun. Just --” he hesitates and then rolls his eyes a little at himself. “Enjoy it all. Don’t take any of it for granted. Practise guitar, eat your greens and --” Niall feels his lips on his forehead. It makes him flush and smile all at once, his stomach twisting as Other Niall gives him a kiss. --”always wear a condom.”

Other Niall snorts to himself and rolls away, leaving a few inches of space between them. Niall’s head is buzzing. It’s been like the most delicious _tease_ of what’s to come. His face feels warm from where Niall’s hand had been and he shuffles forward a little, shamelessly seeking him out again. 

Other Niall huffs a laugh, rolling towards him. “Ah, come here, you big sod.”

Niall grins to himself. It’s hard to be embarrassed in front of, well, yourself. 

“Happy birthday,” Niall whispers, curling into Niall’s chest. 

“Happy birthday to you too,” Niall whispers back. 

*

Waking up the next morning is less of a shock but no less disappointing. 

“Ah, Jesus,” Other Niall murmurs, giving him a light pat on the chest with his knuckles. They’d woken up side by side, like templates of each other, the duvet stretched over their laps. Underneath, Niall can feel the heat radiating off Niall’s hip but otherwise they aren’t touching, both of them sprawled out across the mattress. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Niall answers, his stomach twisting. He doesn’t know if he’s happy about it or not. 

Other Niall sighs, rolls over and snuggles into him. “Gimme ten minutes and then we can get up.”

Niall smiles. He was thinking the exact same thing. 

Except, ten minutes later, Other Niall actually does get up. 

“Come back,” Niall mumbles sleepily into the pillow, his hand sliding across the sheets after his older self. 

“Haveta get to the venue,” Other Niall says, a yawn on either side of the sentence. “It’s nearly twelve.”

“Can I come?” Niall asks, burrowing back down into the duvet. It might be lunchtime but it’s still early, especially for those who have a hangover. He peeks up over the edge of the duvet and watches where Other Niall is standing at the end of the bed, a palm against his bare chest and the other wrapped around a bottle of water. He chugs the entire thing nearly in one. 

“Did you drink the _entire_ bar?” he asks when he ducks down to the mini bar again. 

Other Niall pulls the duvet up over his head and ignores him. He hears Niall laugh and then the thump of something heavy on the bed near his head. 

“Drink that and you’ll feel better.”

The duvet is whipped off his head and when he looks up, Other Niall is grinning down at him. His cheeks are a little pink, his hair a mess on top of his head. He looks a little sleep rumpled. If Niall would look in a mirror he probably would look the same. 

“Sorry,” Niall says, squirming on the sheets so his bottom half is still covered with the duvet. He finds the bottle of water Niall’s thrown at him and fiddles with the lid. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Niall says, grinning down at him. “Not an issue about money. Just don’t tend to get bluttered on my own in hotel rooms anymore.”

Niall swallows down the questions he has for him. Now that he’s here for a second day he wants to know so much more about what’s going on in Other Niall’s life. About why Harry’s in California twelve hours before their show. Why he seems to think that Niall can’t just call him up whenever he feels like it. 

But there’s another part of him that doesn’t really want to know any of that at all.

“Can I come with you?” Niall asks thinking it might be better to actually _see_ it. Other Niall starts to laugh, reaching forward to scruff a hand through his hair. Niall feels the way his fingers scrape over his scalp down to his toes. He curls them in the duvet, tries not to let himself get hard from it. 

“Don’t think so,” Other Niall says and sounds a little guilty about it. “I know it must be a bit shite locked up here all day but I promise I’ll be back after the show. We’re not going out after.”

“Why not?” Niall asks. To him, tour just seems like a never-ending night out. He can’t wait until he’s legal and he can do it for all the Daily Mail readers to see. 

Other Niall laughs again but his mouth turns down a little. “Can’t go on forever. Sometimes it’s nice to just chill.”

Niall doses off again when the Other Niall goes for a shower. He can hear him humming, the low sound of an unfamiliar song and it lulls him to sleep with how warm it makes him feel. How content Other Niall sounds from behind the door that he’s left ajar. 

He’s on the phone when Niall wakes up again, his voice hushed low but annoyed sounding. 

\--”don’t know what you’re on about,” Other Niall hisses from where he’s sitting on the end of the bed. He’s naked, his shoulders rounded over as he holds the phone to his ear. “I never rang you.”

Niall feels his stomach turn again, something foreboding in the tone of Niall’s voice. He can see the line of Other Niall’s spine the way he’s lent over, the curve of his arse. His shoulders are pink from the water pressure, the rest of his back pale and splotchy. The cleft of his arse distracting as he bends over to pick up the towel from the floor.

“Harry, would you shut up for a minute?” Niall asks from the end of the bed, his voice rising. “I’m fine -- I don’t know why you care, anyway --”

There’s a pause and then Other Niall snorts mirthlessly and throws his phone away. It skids off the end of the bed and falls with a dampened clatter against the carpet. 

Other Niall’s shoulders looks tense as he rubs the towel roughly over his head. Niall watches as he stands, the profile of his face set into a deep frown. 

He doesn’t seem bothered that he’s completely naked, turning towards his suitcase. Niall watches the hang of his dick, the cut of his hips. It doesn’t look much different -- no razor burn because he’s stopped trying to strip all his pubes off, a bit more toned where Niall’s all sharp hip bones and soft belly. 

He looks good, actually. Niall feels his cheeks warm and he pushes the duvet down a bit so he doesn’t look flushed and flustered. The movement catches Other Niall’s attention and he smiles tightly at him from the end of the bed, a pair of boxers in his hand but not making any move to put them on. 

“You didn’t talk to anybody yesterday, did you?” Other Niall asks, his face scrunched up in confusion. 

Niall thinks about lying but he figures that Other Niall will just see through it. You can’t really lie to yourself, can you? Well, not successfully, anyway.

The hesitation is enough and he watches as his shoulders fall across the room, his expression going carefully blank. “Fuck,” he says under his breath and scrunches his fingers through his damp hair again so it sticks up on the top of his scalp. 

“I didn’t have a number for you and I was--” Niall tries to make it sound less stalkerish or desperate. --”worried.”

“What did you say?” Other Niall asks. It feels like he’s very far away, Niall wishes he’d step closer to the bed, crawl under the covers with him so Niall doesn’t feel so vulnerable sitting there. It’s bizarre, because it’s his other self that’s still completely brazenly naked in the middle of the room. 

“Just asked where you are. Then he started going on about how he was in California and did he have to ring anyone to sort you out. What was that all about? Why the fuck is he in California?” 

Other Niall’s face hardens and he finally stoops to pull on his underwear. Niall’s a tiny bit disappointed but there’s something nice in watching his arse in tiny black shorts. 

Niall flops back into the pillows and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s just spent the past five minutes drooling over _himself_. It’s too early to have a crisis like this. 

“Never you mind where the fuck he is,” Other Niall finally grumbles, pulling on a pair of trousers. He goes for a t-shirt, a soft looking one with the cover of Rumours on it in faded black before he thinks better of himself and pulls on something else. 

“Christ,” Niall says, letting his frustration out on himself. “You’re an arsehole aren’t you? What’s the use in not just telling me?”

“Was I really this much of a brat?” Other Niall snaps from where he’s pulling on a jacket, checking for his wallet, doing all the familiar things he does when he’s leaving. Niall watches the clench of one of his fists. “Maybe I was an irritating little cunt of a little brother.”

Niall’s stomach turns over. “Shut the fuck up.”

When he glances over at Other Niall he sees him standing stock still, his shoulders tense as he stares back at him. “Sorry,” he says tightly but genuine. “Forget I said that.”

Niall doesn’t say anything back, just stares at him. Other Niall doesn’t seem to need a response. 

“I’ll see you later. I won’t be late, I promise this time.” He goes to the door just as his phone starts to ring in his pocket. He gives Niall a long look before he’s out the door, already answering the phone. 

*

Niall does his best to amuse himself but day two of being cooped up in a hotel room is a day too much. He takes a shower this time, revelling in the wide showerhead and water pressure. He uses all of Niall’s toiletries until he smells like his older self. 

He eats a late lunch (more sushi. He’s been converted) in his pants in silence because when he had tried to figure out how to play music on the iPad, he’d inadvertently found out, with a kick to the gut, that Glenn Frey is dead. 

All his questions in his head swiftly change scope. 

He doesn’t want to ask Niall anything about their family, he doesn't think he could stomach it if something had happened and he was forced to go back and wait on it, knowing it was coming and being helpless to change anything. 

The iPad sits in the middle of the bed, black screen smudged with his fingerprints and Niall goes through the suitcase on the floor, unpacking and repacking just so he doesn’t be tempted to go Google something like _why is Harry Styles not with the rest of One Direction in Tokyo?_.

Everything seems a little less shiny and new now and it’s with something a little like homesickness he wishes he was back in 2011 where he could just be himself in his own skin and not some forgotten version of this Niall from now. 

He makes the decision sort of accidently. In the top flap of Niall’s suitcase, Niall pulls out an itinerary, the name of the venue along the bottom. It’s wedged in the middle of his battered passport which he giggles at for a few minutes, flicking through stamp after stamp on the pages. 

Niall finds a flat cap squashed at the bottom of the suitcase. When he fits it to his head, he can hardly see any of the blonde underneath. It makes his ears stick out a little bit and Niall wonders when he’ll suddenly be happy to be caught dead in a flat cap like his granda’s but it does the job. 

He looks like his older self, though. Or at least, passes as him. He pulls on a soft t-shirt and a pair of Other Niall’s skinny jeans. He has to hop around a bit to get them up over his ankles but when he looks at himself in the mirror, his fingertips tracing Stevie Nicks’ face on his chest, he looks passable. 

He throws the rest of Niall’s clothes haphazardly back into the suitcase and finds the spare room key tucked into the a little cubbyhole by the door. When he’s outside the room, he realises how fucking fancy the hotel is. Maybe he should just give into the urge to look up how much they’re worth now. 

He keeps his head down in the lift, trying to pretend he’s not there. In the lobby, his heart nearly stops as someone approaches him to ask if _he’s got everything he needs, Mr Horan_. 

Niall gapes at the hotel employee and then asks for a taxi, explaining that he has no cash and just the spare credit card Other Niall slipped him yesterday. It doesn’t seem to be a problem and in twenty minutes he’s standing outside the venue, the sky just starting to twinge black. 

He keeps the hat down low, slides through a side door. A few people do a double take but Niall just smiles at everyone, keeps his feet moving until he’s making his way into the hot belly of the venue. Fake it til you make, eh. 

It looks like an alright size. Niall can’t really complain about any venue -- back home, back in 2011, they’ve done the X Factor tour but they’ve not sorted out the details about their own tour yet after Christmas. He’d got the impression from Niall that they’d surpassed even Niall’s wildest dreams so it makes something settle heavy in his chest that it’s not an arena. 

The waiting is the hard bit. People around him chatter, a building anticipation spreading through his gut. He wishes he had a beer or something to fiddle with to distract him for a moment. 

A hush comes over the crowd as the lights dip and then a roar as everyone starts to scream. 

Niall’s heart lurches into his throat. Up on stage, Other Niall’s walking into the middle. And he’s the only one on it. It’s only then that the spotlight illuminates the huge **NH** backdrop and Niall’s stomach clenches.

This is _his_ gig. Just him. 

All of these screaming girls are just. for. him. 

Niall sways on the spot. It feels like his insides are trying to come out of any orifice he’s got free. He turns into a group of girls to his left. They shift to let him pass, some of them glancing at him a little too long. 

He finds the men’s bathrooms in a daze, his teeth pressed to his knuckles. They’re not a band anymore. Him and the boys aren’t together. 

It’s not just Harry that isn’t in Tokyo with him. It’s all of them. Louis, Liam and Zayn. 

The lights are too bright and Niall grips onto the porcelain rim of the sink to steady himself. He looks washed out when he looks up at the mirror. Young and pale. He knocks the hat off his head, he doesn’t look like himself. Looks too much like the older one out on stage there. 

He’s left the band. 

It explains everything -- why Niall’s been so cagey, why Harry didn’t want to talk to him. He’s went and left the group. 

Niall spits into the sink. 

He thought everything was going well. He _loves_ the boys. He can’t even imagine wanting to leave. Can’t imagine wanting to do this without them now. They’re a team. They’re a _band_.

Outside the crowd are going crazy. It sounds muffled through the wall and the door but Niall can feel the buzz of excitement. Other Niall says something, his voice distorted enough that Niall can’t make it out and then there’s another roar of the crowd. 

Niall splashes a bit of water on his face, takes a deep breath and makes his way out of the bathrooms.

Up on stage, he’s in the middle of a song when Niall slides into the back of the venue. The crowd are silent, hanging on his every word and Niall feels uncomfortable anticipation build up in his belly again. 

It’s like a stranger up there. 

A stranger who looks like he’s having the time of his life, the guitar hanging off his shoulder, the rest of the band around him jamming along as Niall cycles through a few songs. He tries to listen to the lyrics but most of them are a blur, his heart still pumping too loud in his ears. 

And then, the lights go down and it’s just Niall, the spotlight on him as he sings something delicate with just his fingers on the guitar. 

Niall can hear the emotion in his voice, the tremble of his tone around _please, don’t leave_ , can see the way he gives himself into the whole song with his eyes closed. 

Niall pushes his way out of the venue again, forces himself out the front door as the crowd erupt into a new round of applause and screaming behind him. 

Niall’s voice rings in his ear the whole way home. 

*

Niall gets back, as promised, not too late. 

“Hey,” he says, breathless when he closes the door behind him again. He looks a little sweaty, his hair a mess on top of his head like he’s raked his fingers through it again. He’s wearing the same t-shirt as he was up on stage and Niall knows that he hasn’t showered yet. 

He has his guitar with him -- which is new -- and Niall stares at the case as he drops it down on the other armchair.

“That was fucking amazing,” Other Niall announces, breezing about the room as he pulls off his jacket and leaves it in the middle of the rug. He reaches into the mini bar and pulls out a beer, twisting the cap off with a hand. 

Niall hasn’t seen him grin this wide since he got here. 

“What touring have you done?” Other Niall asks between gulps of beer. “You’ll never fucking get used to the feel of it. Christ, it feels amazing. All those people screaming out at you, singing along to the lyrics. Jesus, just wait until you get --”

Other Niall cuts himself off, grinning to himself a little bit. He kicks off his boots, still looking beside himself. 

“Wait until what?” Niall asks, not letting him move on. 

Other Niall comes back across the room to him, his mouth turning into a teasing grin. “I shouldn’t say.”

Niall leans forward. “Why not? Just say?”

Other Niall laughs a little and collapses down beside him. He leans in, whispers like it’s a secret. Niall can smell the beer on his breath, this isn’t his first. 

“Croker.”

“Fuck off,” Niall splutters, leaning away from him. His heart is in his throat. 

Other Niall settles back with a satisfied smile. He takes another sip of his beer before he lets out a little laugh, nearly disbelievingly. 

“Are you joking?” Niall asks, everything inside him still jumbled up. He puts one foot to the ground to steady himself, turns himself on the sofa so he’s facing Niall properly. “Seriously? We play a night at Croke Park?”

Other Niall lets out a cackle. “ _Three_.”

Niall feels stunned. “All of us?”

Other Niall answers easily, “Yeah.”

“No,” Niall asks, his chest tight. “We’re _all_ still there?”

Other Niall looks over at him properly now, his smile fading. “What’ve you read?”

Niall swallows, glances away. “Nothing,” he says, truthfully. “I don’t --”

Other Niall heaves a sigh. “Look, it’s tough at the start when he first goes. A bit confusing. You’re gonna be fucking angry. It’ll feel like your entire world is ending for a moment --” Other Niall groans, rubs his hand over his eyes. “Fuck. But it all works out, alright. The four of us are stronger than ever and nothing’s going to --”

Niall’s just staring. He has no idea what the fuck is going on. He’s still trying to work out how they go from three nights in Croker to a tiny venue in Tokyo. How they go from five to four to none at all. 

“It all works out fine,” Other Niall is saying, shuffling closer to him. Niall doesn’t know what expression is on his face but his older self looks concerned. “Do you want a drink? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.”

Niall opens his mouth, feels words get stuck there. “Why does he leave?” his voice is rough and he clears it, pretends it isn’t very close to breaking. 

Other Niall’s face falls and for a moment he looks heartbreakingly sad. “He wasn’t in it anymore. He wasn’t there. You can’t force someone to --”

Niall lets out a shuddering breath. “So it’s not because of me?” he asks. “Us?”

Other Niall’s hand slips over his knee. “What? No, of course not.”

Niall gasps, all the pressure in his chest releasing too quick. 

“Hey,” Other Niall says, leaning forward to drop the bottle of beer onto the coffee table, his other hand already reaching for Niall. He pulls him into a cuddle, Niall’s face tucking into the warm skin under Other Niall’s jaw. “Of course it’s nothing you’ve done. I’ve done.” Other Niall snorts at how confusing they’re being. “Either of us. It’s not to do with us.”

Niall nods but can’t bring himself to say anything, his brain too full of questions and thoughts and worries. Everything that he keeps deep, deep down and doesn’t talk to anyone about -- even if it is himself. 

Other Niall’s hand sinks into his hair, pets through where it’s getting too long at the back again. It makes Niall melt into his side, Other Niall leaning back into the plush cushions and bringing Niall with him. 

“Why’d you think it was something we did?” he asks, his head moving so he can look down at him. It makes his breath fan over his face, his lips brushing the top of Niall’s forehead. 

Niall closes his eyes, swallows. He has a hand fisted in the front of Other Niall’s t-shirt and he squeezes it, his fingers clenching together. 

“Because --” Niall starts, his voice quiet. “Back home. Back where I am. It feels like I’m going to fuck it up. He’s going to find out and hate me and leave the band and that’s it, we’re over before we even get started.”

Other Niall is quiet for a moment. “Find out what?”

“Find out what my feelings are for him,” Niall blurts out, feeling a bit mad about it. Why doesn’t Niall just _get it_. Why does he have to say everything out loud. 

Other Niall pulls back slightly, lifts his hand to tilt Niall’s chin up so he can look at him. Niall looks over his shoulder, can’t meet his eyes. 

“Who are you talking about?” he asks, his face bewildered in the corner of his eye. 

Niall sits back, curls a knee up in front of him defensively. “Harry, of course.”

“Harry!” Other Niall barks, pushing himself up on one hand so he’s not completely sprawled across the sofa. “What are you on about? Harry doesn’t leave --”

Niall feels sick. 

Other Niall’s face falls and then he’s reaching forward again. “Oh, shit. Niall, pet --”

“Who the fuck leaves then?” Niall asks, stinging in his eyes. He feels fucking stupid for not knowing what’s going on. 

“Zayn,” Other Niall says sadly. “I’m sorry. I thought -- it’s not Harry.” He pauses and then seems to realise what Niall means. “Shit, nothing you do fucks anything up with Harry.”

Niall stares at him. It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “What happens?”

“With Zayn or with Harry?”

Niall glares at him. “Whichever one you’re up on stage _on your own_ fucking singing about.”

Other Niall’s face goes blank. 

“I seen your show,” Niall tells him. “I went today and seen you up there on your own. I thought that the entire band was here and then Harry tells me he’s in fucking California and you’re arguing with him on the phone and --”

“Hey,” Other Niall says, soothingly. Niall wants to punch him, tell him to stop being so fucking condescending but it’s then that he realises how loud he’s shouting, how heavy he’s breathing. His hands are clenched in front of him and there’s something thumping at the side of his head, just underneath his skull.

He lets Niall bundle him up into another hug, this time Other Niall is sort of lying on him but it’s nice to have that reassuring weight press him against the cushions. It makes the tightness in his chest sort of worth it. 

“Stop worrying about Harry,” he says, his voice low and calm. “We’re just working out some stuff. You’re --”

“I’m what?” Niall asks, his voice barely a croak. He feels a bit embarrassed for all his shouting but he can’t stop gripping the back of Other Niall’s t-shirt, keeping him pressed close. 

“You’re gonna have some of the best fun with him,” Other Niall promises and then he kisses him, his lips warm on his cheek like they were last night. It’s such a casual brush of affection. It feels like everything Niall does with a boy is so deliberate now. Touch them here, don’t touch them there. Don’t get too close. 

He’s jealous of how Other Niall just does what he wants. 

Niall turns his face on instinct and kisses him on the mouth. Other Niall pulls back warily, his eyes flitting over his face. His expression remains soft but Niall can see the hint of conflict in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” Niall says, darting forward to kiss him again. He feels a bit reckless with it, his mouth searching out the heat of Other Niall’s. He licks his lips, their faces close enough that he can lick across Other Niall’s mouth too. 

“Fuck,” Other Niall breathes and then he’s kissing him back, rolling more on top of him. He slides a knee between Niall’s legs and Niall rocks up eagerly against his hip. 

There’s something terrifying about it. He’s never went this far with a man before -- never even gotten a quick snog off anyone. It feels overwhelming, the strength in Other Niall’s thigh between his own, how there’s no soft press of tits, no hair getting in the way. Stubble scrapes over his mouth, his chin raw with it already but Niall wants it everywhere, wants to feel it scrape too harshly down his neck, against his chest, between his legs. 

He moans, clutches Other Niall closer. It’s not even weird that this is himself. In fact, that makes it a bit more reassuring, that Niall won’t be laughed at or shouted at if something goes wrong. 

“You haven’t done this yet.” 

Niall feels his face flush. It’s not even a question -- of course, Niall knows when he did this himself and it obviously hasn’t happened yet. It’s nearly like he’s inside his own mind. Something inherent in just _knowing_.

“I’ve had sex,” he says a little defensively, trying to take the heat off himself. Other Niall laughs softly, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip and Niall cracks his eyes open, looking up at where Other Niall is smiling at him. 

“I know you have,’ Other Niall whispers, hand on his chin. He’s staring at him, chasing his gaze, confident in all the ways Niall isn’t yet. 

“Will I like it?” Niall blurts out. 

Other Niall laughs louder this time, ducking in quickly to kiss him. Niall groans into it, clutching him desperately closer. He feels a bit frantic, using the kissing to distract Other Niall about how bloody _embarrassing_ he’s being. 

“Yes,” Other Niall says when he pulls away. His voice sounds a bit rough, the hair on the back of Niall’s neck prickling. “You’ll like it. You’ll really like it.”

“Oh,” Niall mutters, his stomach in knots. “Good.”

Other Niall starts to laugh again, ducking down until he’s laughing into the crook of Niall’s neck. 

When Niall laughs during sex it’s because it’s awkward, the stranger in his bed smiling shyly up at him. Or back when he was younger and he really didn’t know what he was doing. He did to try and break the tension, did it because he didn’t know what else to do. 

This Niall, older and more experienced, seems to be laughing because he’s actually enjoying it. 

It makes something in Niall settle. How sex can maybe more than just purely racing to get off. 

“We can stop if you don’t want to,” Other Niall says, distracting him again. Niall leans towards his mouth, catching him in another kiss. It’s addictive, he can’t stop kissing him like this. Can’t stop feeling the brush of stubble against his lips when they get messy with it. “Anytime you want.”

“Okay,” Niall answers breathlessly. “I want it all though. I want it --”

Other Niall pulls away, looks down at him. Niall can see the bulge in his jeans, that he’s just as worked up as he is. “Go to the bed. I’ll get some stuff.”

Niall knows he must be a little startled looking because Other Niall breathes against his mouth for a moment, his forehead leant against Niall’s. It forces him to breathe, trying to fight the nerves building deep down in the pit of his belly. Other Niall kisses him again, his tongue gentle against his before he’s climbing up off the sofa and disappearing off into the bathroom. 

The sheets are cool when he lies down on the big wide bed. They’ve changed the bedding whilst he was away, the same as they’ve filled the mini-bar. He doesn’t know if he should get in the bed, the duvet heavy enough that it’s probably more of a hinderance. He knows a few girls that prefer it inside, deep down in the dark where no one can see anything. 

He scrubs his hand over his eyes and kicks the duvet off the side of the bed, deciding that he doesn’t want to miss a thing. When he pulls his hand away, Niall’s at the bottom of the bed watching him. 

“Don’t be so nervous,” he tells him, uselessly. It feels like everything inside him is fizzing and about to explode. He watches as Other Niall strips off his clothes, the t-shirt over his head and then his jeans. He catches his eye and has to look away when the boxers get pushed down his thighs. 

“Were you nervous?” Niall asks, not knowing what else to say. It feels like his tongue is too big in his mouth. He lifts a hand, brings it to the waistband of his jeans but doesn’t unbutton it. “Who was your --”

Other Niall smiles, his expression going soft. He climbs onto the bed, crawls closer to where it feels like Niall’s frozen in the middle. He drops a condom and tube of lube beside his shoulder and sits by Niall’s hip, his dick bobbing with how hard he is. “I don’t know if I should spoil it --”

Niall pulls his gaze away again, staring up at the ceiling. It feels like he’s teasing but it makes him shiver rather than cringe. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Other Niall tells him, leaning over to draw him back into a kiss. Niall breathes through his nose roughly, lets his hands wander and tries to follow Niall’s advice, stops himself worrying so much. 

He ends up sprawled over Other Niall’s lap, pushing him into the mattress as he kisses him harder and harder. He’s rock hard, his zip undone but still mostly clothed. It feels a bit bizarre that the Other Niall below him is completely naked. He keeps pushing his fingers down the back of Niall’s jeans, his palm cupping over his arse. Niall’s palms skit across Other Niall’s soft skin, feeling out the heat of his ribs, the smoothness of his hip. 

“Do you want to do more?” Other Niall asks him, his voice rough when Niall pulls away from his mouth. It’s gone red -- just like his own does from so much kissing. 

“Yeah,” Niall answers truthfully, rocking down against him. It makes him turn his head away, groaning. Niall watches the work of his jaw, the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

It’s easier to see how turned on he is this way too, his chest heaving and his dick trapped between them, red and a little dribbly. It makes Niall feel better -- that he’s having just as much of a good time as he is himself. 

“Okay,” Other Niall breathes, turning his head to look at him again. His eyes look incredibly blue like this. His hands sweep up Niall’s back, tugging at the t-shirt. He rolls them, drops biting kisses across Niall’s chest, down over his belly. He drags his jeans and boxers down in one go, mouth pressed to one of his hips and then just like that, Niall’s naked. 

He isn’t sure what to do with his hands, one curled in the sheets below him and the other tentatively brushing at Other Niall’s dark fringe. 

“You smell so good,” Other Niall murmurs, nuzzling down further. Niall spreads his legs, lets him nuzzle wherever he wants. He can’t think straight, his body wanting to move on it’s own accord. 

He feels the lick of a tongue down the crease of his thigh, a sucking kiss into soft skin on the inside of his leg. He jolts, not really thinking too much of that part of his body when it comes to sex. Any blow job he’s had before was just straight to the main show. 

“Smell like you,” Niall says, belatedly. 

Other Niall’s fingers tighten at his hip, his head popping up to stare at him. “This is fuckin’ mad,” he says, his voice a croak. “I’m about to fuck myself.”

“Niall,” Niall gasps, his mind spinning with how strange it is to be saying your own name. Other Niall blinks, probably thinking it too. And then he ducks down, his mouth sliding down between his legs. 

The first brush of his tongue makes Niall jerk away. It feels too strange, the wet sweep of it somewhere he’s never felt that before. Other Niall’s hand pushes at his hip, pins him down against his mattress. He sucks a kiss against his hole, Niall’s tongue pressed against it. It makes Niall feel like liquid, everything melting down into the mattress. 

He tries to focus on breathing, one hand on his chest and the other on his forehead, feeling where he’s sweating. Niall’s hands feel so big, one pressed against the inside of his knee to keep him spread open like that, the other moving from his hip to squeeze around his dick. 

“Oh, fu--” Niall jerks, coming so quickly it feels like he’s coming inside out. His back arches, coming all over his belly while the Other Niall leans back, laughing against the inside of his thigh. 

It seems like an age to come down, Niall trying to catch his breath. He hides behind his palm, breathing heavily against the skin there as if it’ll help steady him. “Sorry.”

“Come on,” Other Niall cajoles. “You’re okay.”

He’s still between his legs and Niall feels a sweep of mortification at that. He brings his knees up, trying to cover himself but it just makes Other Niall snort again. 

“Only making it easier,” he tells him, one hand gently pulling his legs apart, the other sliding down to press his thumb against his clenched hole. 

Niall swears, wishing it didn’t feel so good for a moment. He’s still smarting from coming so hard, his mind like marshmallow. 

Other Niall takes pity on him, rolling out from between his legs and letting him straighten them out. He kisses his hip, licks a bit at where he’s come all over himself and then props up into Niall’s view, a smug smile on his face. 

“We’ll take a minute, yeah?” he asks, his hand rubbing gently at Niall’s chest. He ducks down, hesitating close to Niall’s mouth. “Is it okay -- to kiss you?”

Niall’s nodding before he really thinks it through. Kissing is easy. It’s a distraction while he figures out what the rest of his body is going to do. It’s only when Niall’s licking into his mouth, the foreign taste of come on his tongue does he remember just where exactly Niall’s mouth has been. 

He groans at the thought and Other Niall laughs back, breaking away to kiss down his jaw. “Didn’t even get to suck you properly,” he murmurs against Niall’s ear. “Get a proper taste. Bit weird licking yourself out, don’t really think a lot of people get the chance.”

Niall’s mind spins. He can’t listen to this. He rolls against Other Niall’s body, their hot skin pressed together chest to hip. 

“Can I try?” Niall asks, feeling a bit childish asking like this. The words feel too big in his mouth so he reaches down, wraps his hand around Other Niall’s dick. Wills him to understand what he’s asking without having to tell Niall that he’s never done this before. 

Other Niall snorts. “Be my guest.”

Niall smiles, feels a bit nervous again as he slides down the bed. His legs feel like jelly as they hang over the end, his arms wobbly as he tries to hold himself up. Other Niall pats at his head, his fingers dragging down his face. 

“Just remember to breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging over Niall’s mouth. “We have a shite gag reflex.” 

Niall feels a wave of embarrassment. “I don’t need you to --”

“Hey, hey,” Other Niall interrupts, his fingers brushing away Niall’s fringe. His face feels hot and he can’t quite meet Niall’s eyes. “Just think what’s nice on you.”

Niall swallows. His mouth is ridiculously dry. He feels suddenly so _inexperienced_.

His dick feels familiar in his hand, just that he’s coming at it from the wrong angle. It seems a bit easier to just go for it, to just ignore the daunting feeling building in his belly and just suck on the head of his dick. 

Niall tastes of skin, his tongue rolling over the underside of his own dick. He tries not to think of the madness in it all, the impossibility. He tastes of something else that Niall’s not really used to, the taste catching at the back of his throat.

He can feel when Niall gets harder, something a little bit bizarre with how the skin rolls against his tongue, and his thumb where he reaches to steady Niall against his mouth. He slides down, taking more of him into his mouth. It makes him splutter a bit, pulling away too quick to gasp for air. 

“Just go slow,” the Other Niall tells him gently, his voice caught. When Niall glances up, he sees how he’s lying back, one hand tugging at his nipple. The other is on his belly, his fingers pressed low enough that he could nearly be touching Niall’s forehead when he goes down on him. 

Niall tries again, filling his mouth until his jaw aches. Tears prick at his eyes and he forces himself to breathe through his nose. He rubs his tongue under the crown of his dick, feeling the strain of Other Niall’s hips as he fucks slightly up into his mouth. 

It makes him cough again, his eyes streaming but he likes it, the weight of a dick on his mouth, the feeling of being full. 

Other Niall pushes him off with fingers to his forehead. “Wait,” he calls from up the bed. His fingers curl against Niall’s shoulder, the other around the base of his dick so Niall’s lips bump against them, spit dribbling over them. 

Niall pulls off, his jaw aching. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll come,” Other Niall warns, taking deep breaths. He sits up, his eyes closing when he sees how red Niall’s face has gone, how watery his eyes are. “Fuck --”

“So?” Niall asks, panting a little. He can see the way Niall’s stomach is tensing, his dick jerking a little in his hand. He presses his mouth to his hip, inhales how he smells of sweat and musk. “I’ve come.”

“Yeah,” Other Niall says, his fingers flexing around the base of his dick. “But I want to fuck you. Wanna come inside you.”

Niall groans, bites down on his skin. Other Niall’s hips come off the bed and he laughs breathlessly above him, his hand coming down to clumsily comb through his hair. 

When Niall sits up, he can see how pink he looks, flushed down his chest. Niall doesn’t know how he hasn’t come yet, he must be aching. His dick curving up to his belly, shiny from his spit. 

“How do you want me?” Niall asks, licking over his lips. They feel wet and slippery, spit all down his chin. Niall’s looking at him intensely, watching his mouth move. He wipes at his face self consciously, drags his fingers over his bottom lip and wants to kiss him again. 

“On your front, maybe,” Other Niall murmurs, sitting up properly. He’s reaching for the lube and Niall lies down flat beside him, his face turned so he can see what Other Niall is doing. 

He laughs again when he turns and sees him spread like that. “You don’t have to look so rigid.”

Niall laughs, turns his face into the sheets. They smell of Niall. 

The bed dips behind him and then there’s a set of lips on his shoulder, the scrape of teeth. He takes his time, licking and kissing down Niall’s back until each touch makes Niall shiver. Other Niall eases him up until he’s on his knees, his arse spread and on show. Niall tries not to think of it as embarrassing, presses his face into his arms. He focuses on the gentle sweep of Other Niall’s hands down his thighs, up over his arse cheeks. His dick hangs heavy between his legs but Other Niall still takes his time, his fingertips tickling over his hole, down over his perineum to brush at his balls. 

“Please,” he moans into the crook of his elbow. It’s slippery with sweat and he’s breathing hard, anticipation fueling every jerk of his hips, every time he rolls back to press eagerly against Niall’s hand when it slides up over his arse. 

Other Niall laughs softly and when his fingers trail over his hole next, they’re wet. 

“Just one,” Other Niall says, his other hand petting down over Niall’s trembling thigh. It feels like he’s on show, spread open for everyone -- for Niall -- to see. Everything sounds so loud -- the squelch of lube, their ragged breathing, the dirty sound of fingers in his arse. 

“Say something,” Niall begs, his voice breaking. He gasps harshly, feels Niall wriggle in a second finger. It feels wet and slippery, his arse being worked open on his own hand. 

Other Niall kisses the back of his hip, the curve of his arse. “Taking it so well. Far better than I did. Gonna fill you ri--”

It feels infinitely better than when he tried to do it himself. There’s no awkward angle, there’s no overthinking it. There’s nothing he can do but take it. Other Niall is murmuring something to him still but he can’t hear over the buzzing in his ears. He takes a breath. It feels like everything is wound up tight inside him, the tautness in his spine, the grip of his belly. 

Niall can’t see him, just knows that he’s there with the third finger he’s impossibly squeezing into his arse. There’s a dribble of lube sliding down his thigh, his knees aching where they’re spread on the sheets. 

Niall bites at the skin on the inside of his elbow, trying not to tense so much. His heart is thundering in his chest and when he glances down his dick’s flagging a little, everything in his head diverting to the stretch around Other Niall’s fingers. 

“Can I see you?” he asks, his words muffled against his skin. There’s an imprint of his teeth on his arm, saliva smeared over it. “Please. It feels like you’re anyone --”

Other Niall pulls away, his fingers petting over his hole. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice rough. He’s even more flushed when Niall rolls onto his back. He gives him a smile, reaching for the condom. Niall watches, feeling strange when he clenches down on nothing but slippery lube. 

Niall kisses him when he’s done, pulling him down until his older body is pressing him into the mattress. Their bodies slip over each other, Niall bringing his legs up to settle around Other Niall’s hips. He feels small underneath him, even though his knees go around Niall’s waist easily. 

“You’re okay,” Other Niall murmurs, his gaze reassuring when the blunt head of his dick presses up against his hole. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Niall nods, all the breath leaving his lungs when he pushes in. It feels like the longest moment in his life, his hands gripping tightly at Other Niall’s back as he fucks him. He nearly wants to say stop, the discomfort throwing him for a moment.

“You okay?” Niall hears over the rush in his ears. “Niall?”

Niall rolls his hips as Other Niall fucks up into him again, his dick nudging up against his prostate. 

“Yeah,” he gasps out, his insides melting hot together. “Yeah. Fuck.”

Other Niall laughs, his face smoothing out. He leans down, the angle changing again, to kiss him. Niall chases his mouth. They’re pressed so tight together that Niall hadn’t thought it was possible to have sex this way, every place where they touch radiating warmth. 

“I’m gonna come again,” Niall gasps, clenching down. His mouth brushes over Other Niall’s and he fumbles for his dick. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Other Niall groans, leaning back so he can fuck into him faster. He reaches down, his fingers rubbing over where his dick is disappearing into him. “I’m not gonna last.”

When the Other Niall comes, his face goes taut, his eyes closing. He’s pink the whole way down his chest. Niall’s never seen himself come before, never thought it could be hot. He never seen it in a whole body way before. The clench of a fist, the way he curls over when he comes, his face dropping into the space between the pillow and Niall’s shoulder and he’s still moaning, his body collapsing hard over Niall’s chest. 

Niall comes between them at the sound, hadn’t realised he sounded so debauched before. He grunts, his fingers sliding through the jizz up his belly before he can wind his arm over Other Niall’s hip and he can hug him close. 

“Fuck,” Niall breathes, turning his head. The Other Niall looks fucked out beside him, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth turning up into a soft smile. 

“Yeah, he murmurs, nudging forward to suck a kiss at his mouth. Niall lets him, pressing closer even with the way they’re tangled. 

Other Niall sighs, kisses his forehead like the first night they pressed together in bed. “Hold on.”

He rolls away and now that he’s coming down, Niall cringes at the sound of him getting rid of the condom, the way lube dribbles uncomfortably out of his arse. 

“How’d you get so good at it?” Niall asks quietly when he comes back to bed. Other Niall drags the duvet up over them and snuggles in close. He’s on the cusp of sleep and he can tell that the other Niall is close too. 

Niall hums, sleepily. “Just practise.”

“With --” Niall starts. He feels more awake suddenly, his stomach turning. “With Harry?”

Other Niall stiffens, his arm slinging over Niall’s waist to tug him closer. They’re sticky still, too sweaty to lie like this. Niall can nearly feel Other Niall’s heartbeat through his chest, beating in time with his own. 

“Always so curious,” Other Niall sighs into his hair. He rolls them until he’s got his face pressed into Niall’s shoulder, his body a heavy weight against Niall’s side. 

“I don’t remember being this curious,” Other Niall murmurs, his lips moving against Niall’s collarbone. 

Niall lifts a hand, brushes his palm over Other Niall’s hip. His skin is hot, tacky still. “Yeah, you do. We’re a nosy little fucker.”

Other Niall snorts, his body shaking as he laughs. They lie in silence for a moment, Niall matching his breathing to the one next to him. 

“You’re gonna get your heart broken,” Other Niall whispers to him, maybe when he thinks he’s asleep. Niall doesn’t have the energy to move. 

His lips brush against his jaw before he’s rolling back, tucking his face into Niall’s neck. 

“Do it anyway.”

*

When Niall wakes, it’s with a pang of loss. He’s naked in his bed -- his actual bed. He rolls over, feels the wonky spring in the base of his spine. Half the mattress is too cool when he shuffles to the other side. 

It feels early, autumn light barely creeping through the gap in the curtains. Outside, it’s going to the be the spattering of trees at the back of the old hospital and not the impressive Tokyo skyline.

He breathes against his pillow for a moment, pushing his fingers down into the crease of his groin to feel the rub of stubble there. 

It really did happen. It wasn’t just a fuzzy wet dream. 

There’s a clatter outside his door, the murmurs of quiet voices in his kitchen. He knows that that’s what’s woken him up and he rolls back onto his back a few moments before the bedroom door bursts open. 

“Harry birthday!” Harry yells, taking a running jump at the bed. Niall cackles and tries to catch him. Harry thumps him too hard with a flailing elbow before he settles, rolling onto his side. 

“Harry!” Louis calls from the other part of the flat. “You were supposed to wait, you twat!”

Harry burrows into Niall’s side, his grin wide as he looks across at him. He darts in and gives Niall a kiss on the side of his mouth. “Wanted to be the first to say happy birthday,” Harry says, grinning. His hand creeps under the duvet and Niall pulls his knees up, cackling as Harry tries to tickle him. 

“I’m naked under here,” he warns him, breathless from laughter. 

Harry joins in, pushing his body up against Niall’s. “Even better!”

“Happy birthday to you,” the other three in the living room start to sing and Niall looks up to see them hovering by the doorway, a lopsided cake with a candle shoved in the middle. Harry falls back, dragging Niall in against his side with an arm around his shoulder. It makes Niall’s heart jump, the knowledge that there’s something more there. 

Sometime. 

He tries to forget about it, push everything he knows from the future out of his head. 

“Happy birthday, dear Niall,” Niall and Harry join in, all five voices melting together in one harmony. Niall settles back against Harry’s chest as the rest of them bounce onto the bed, Louis leaning in to blow out the candle before Niall has a chance. 

“There’s a bit missing,” Niall says, outraged when the plate is plonked on top of his knees. Zayn looks a bit sheepish from the bottom of the bed and Niall stares at him, a swoop of something in his stomach. 

Zayn wiggles his eyebrows at him, his hair soft over his forehead. Niall smiles tentatively back, choosing to forget what he knows. 

Harry slides a hand into his hair, his nails dragging over the back of his scalp the way he knows he likes. It makes him fall back into his side, fitting under his arm. 

“Baking is hard work,” Liam tells him, grinning when Zayn rolls his eyes playfully at him. 

“It is,” Harry intones very seriously from Niall’s side. 

Louis snorts and then he’s piling on, Zayn and Liam following quickly, yelling in their ear about how much Harry needs to _shut the fuck up!_


End file.
